A/N: Ok, so I have been toying with this idea for a couple of weeks now. Ever since I wrote the last installment of Losing Sleep. The idea of Felicity becoming the "designated drinker" for the team stems from her taking the shot Laurel was staring at in that story. So these will be from Oliver's perspective, more his reactions to Felicity being drunk at various times for various team members. They may be loosely connected (I haven't decided how much I really want to connect them yet), but the main goal here is just some silly, harmless fun. This first one will be a bit on the heavier side, but the others will be more fun, I promise!
This first one takes place a year after "Sara". Laurel is not a full-time member of Team Arrow and did not become Black Canary. She remained a lawyer and told her father about Sara's death.
Disclaimer: Arrow is not mine. Sadly.
Designated Drinker- Part One: Laurel
Oliver can hear the giggling the instant he cracks the door open and frowns. It's not a sound he's accustomed to hearing in the basement. There's the occasional bout of laughter, but it typically doesn't last long. They don't have much to inspire amusement down here. Curious, he puts one foot in front of the other to investigate.
When he reaches the bottom, the sight that greets him is even stranger than the laughter was in the first place. Laurel is perched on the med table, her back to him and her legs swinging aimlessly where they dangle about a foot from the floor. Her heels are discarded at the edge of the table along with her blazer, leaving her more casually dressed in a black, fitted tank top and a beige skirt. She's focused on the computers in front of her, or more specifically, the blonde woman currently spinning in the chair in front of them.
There's a brilliant smile on Felicity's face that he never sees enough. It's contagious and he finds himself breaking out into a grin at her obvious joy. She's wearing a red and black patterned dress, the red fabric taking the shape of flowers creeping slowly out over the black fabric. It's probably a good thing she's moving so quickly or Oliver is sure he'd be unable to tear his eyes from her.
"And you said I couldn't do it," Felicity scoffs, her eyes focused on Laurel for as long as the chair's movement will allow.
Laurel sounds amused as she replies, "I did."
"And yet here we are, one high school yearbook photo of one Quentin Lance, complete with embarrassing mullet and an awful attempt at facial hair," Felicity says, grinning widely and indicating the screen.
Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Lance always safe-guarded pictures of himself in high school. Laurel and Sara were forever trying to find a stray one that was missed in the purge, but they never succeeded. Unbidden, he wonders what Sara would say if she could see the photo. The thought takes him off guard and he feels the pit in his stomach grow. There are so many things she won't get to see. It's hard to believe it was a year ago today that she was ripped from them so unceremoniously.
"Oliver!" Felicity's voice calling his name startles him from his thoughts. It's louder than usual, her voice, and he frowns in confusion.
Laurel jumps, twisting her upper body to face him. The amusement in her eyes is muted by grief, as it so often is these days.
"What exactly is, uh, going on here?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Laurel didn't think I could find a picture of Lance in high school," Felicity explains, her voice higher and faster than usual. Her words are almost… slurring? "But I did! Because I'm awesome."
At the end, her voice dims to a sigh, the chair continuing to spin in circles. Oliver watches her, trying to puzzle out why she seems so… carefree. Even a happy Felicity is never so…
"Felicity, are you drunk?" He asks, suddenly piecing it together.
She stops the chair's spinning immediately, her bare feet slapping against the ground. "No…"
He sighs, turning his gaze to Laurel for an explanation.
The brunette shrugs, looking sheepish. "I tried to pace her, but…"
"I told her that she couldn't lie to preserve my sobriety," Felicity cuts her off with a giggle.
Now he's even more confused.
Laurel sighs, clearly not wanting to get into it but not seeing another option. She slides off the table and takes a few steps in his direction. Felicity lets her head fall back against the chair and resumes spinning carelessly.
"She, um… She saw me at the bar when she came in," Laurel tells him, running a hand through her hair and avoiding his eyes. "I was… not in a good place. We started talking…"
"Oliver isn't coming in today," Felicity tells her, leaning against the bar. "Said he… needed some space. In case you were waiting for him."
Laurel shakes her head, finger tracing the rim of the glass idly as she stares at the amber liquid. "No, I'm not looking for anyone."
Felicity hesitates, unsure, and then cautiously slides onto the stool beside the brunette. "Sara told me that you were working really hard at keeping your sobriety, you know, before…"
Laurel continues to stare at the glass.
"What is that? Scotch?" Felicity tries again, a slight tremor in her voice. "I was never one for hard liquor. I tried it once." She shudders. "I prefer wine."
"It's whiskey," Laurel answers, her voice far away, eyes never straying from the liquid. "Sara's favourite."
"She, uh, she came up with this… insane plan," Laurel sighs, half-laughing at the recollection. "She told me she would be my, uh…"
"Designated drinker!" Felicity chimes in helpfully, stopping the chair once more. She sways, swallowing more thickly than normal. "Ugh. Maybe all the spinning was a bad idea…"
Oliver advances a couple of steps toward her, concerned. "Are you alright?"
Closing her eyes for a second, Felicity nods. "I'm good. Continue your… whatever," she tells him, gesturing wildly with her hands before collapsing back into the chair once more. Oliver takes a second to watch her eyes wander around the foundry and wonders what she's thinking about, if she's even thinking of anything.
Belatedly, he turns back to Laurel. "Designated drinker?"
She sighs, but the amusement is breaking through again.
"It's like… a designated driver, but instead of planning for sobriety…" Felicity stops, frowning as she pieces a better definition together. "Every time you feel like taking a drink, pour one out and I'll drink it. That way, you stay sober."
Laurel finally looks up from the whiskey. "How does that help?"
Felicity shrugs. "Let's find out."
And without further comment, she reaches across, plucks the glass from Laurel's fingers, and downs the alcohol in one go. Shuddering, the blonde screws her eyes shut for a split second and then slides the glass back to Laurel, indicating she's ready for the next one.
Oliver blinks, opens his mouth to say something, closes it and blinks again. Eventually, he's able to form a coherent response. "What?"
Laurel nods, pressing her lips together. "I know. I thought she was insane at first, but… I don't know. At some point we started talking about Sara. I told her stories from when we were little and she'd tell people she wanted to be just like me when she grew up… and then when we weren't so little and couldn't stop fighting… somewhere in all of it I stopped wanting to drink. It didn't hurt to remember anymore. It was… good." A small smile quirks at the corners of her lips and Oliver can't help but answer with one of his own. Shaking herself from the moment of nostalgia, Laurel continues. "I told her about the two of us searching for a picture of Dad and she told me she could find one on the internet. I thought she was too drunk, but…"
"She was wrong!" Felicity interrupts happily. Oliver figures she must have some semblance of her wits about her. Clearly, she can hear their conversation but either doesn't want to interrupt it or can't be bothered to join in on a more dedicated basis. "Because I am never too drunk for hacking!"
Oliver smiles more widely in Felicity's direction, unable to hide his amusement. He's pretty sure he's never seen her drunk before. Tipsy, sure, but the way her attention is slipping in and out of focus is new territory for him. It's almost like her oxycodone high the night she was recovering from the bullet wound the Clock King gave her. The one she took for Sara… His smile dims a bit.
"I tried to pace her, Ollie, but she said that was cheating."
"Of course she did," he sighs, exasperated at his blonde partner's stubborn streak. "You can take off, if you want. I can get her home."
"You sure? It is my fault she's this drunk, after all."
"She wouldn't have kept going if she didn't want to. Felicity knows her limits. Don't worry about it."
The other woman nods, as though trying to convince herself of that before heading over to collect her heels and jacket. "Felicity, Oliver's going to take you home, alright?" Felicity nods and Laurel steps closer, her lips curving into another smile. This one is genuine, probably the fullest, happiest smile he's seen from Laurel in a year. "Thank you… for tonight. It means a lot, and it really did help."
Felicity's answering smile is soft and only slightly coloured by the alcohol. "Anytime you need a designated drinker…" She uses her thumbs to point to herself. "I'm your girl."
"I'll remember that."
"As long as you're my designated driver!" She calls out as Laurel starts toward the foundry stairs.
"I think I can handle that!"
Once Laurel is gone, Oliver takes a moment to watch Felicity. She's lost in her own world again, using her foot's grip on the base of the chair to turn it side to side.
"Ok, you ready to get out of here?" He asks, breaking the silence.
She blinks, startled, but nods. If Oliver expects her to stumble when she rises to her feet, he's disappointed. Truthfully, he isn't sure what to expect from her at this point. She kind of surpassed any expectations he might have had when she sat down on that bar stool next to Laurel. The two barely know each other, and yet Felicity spends the better part of her night trying to help the other woman keep her sobriety. Oliver feels his love for the woman in front of him swell dangerously. She truly is… remarkable.
When they get to the stairs, Felicity pauses, eyeing them warily. "These look a lot steeper than they did when we went down them…"
He huffs out a laugh before scooping her into his arms and starting the ascent. It's such a natural thing to do that it takes him halfway up the steps to remind himself that it's not natural and he shouldn't do it.
"Give a girl some warning before you sweep her off her feet next time," Felicity grumbles.
It's on the tip of his tongue, that flirty line he wants to shoot back. But he can't. Instead he bites he tongue and settles on a smile as she lets her head loll into the crook of his neck. Her breath is hot on his skin and he struggles to keep his heart from racing at the closeness he's been denying them for a year now. When he reaches across to buckle her in to the passenger seat of her car, their faces come so close that he almost abandons every one of his very valid reasons for pushing her away after Sara's death. But he can't. Instead, he bites his tongue once more and gently closes the door behind her.
She spends most of the trip to her townhouse with her forehead resting against the window, not saying a word. She's lost a lot of the gleeful aura she was giving off in the foundry and it's making him a bit nervous. They're almost at her block when she speaks, so quietly he almost misses it.
"I hate you, you know that?" The words are soft, lacking any sort of heat, but she says them so matter-of-factly that his heart stops beating for a second and his stomach drops. He can't tell if this is the alcohol talking, or something else.
"Oh, really?" He probes, keeping his tone carefully light.
She nods, her head leaning back against the headrest as she turns to look at him. Her eyes are wide, honest. "You've ruined me, Oliver. For other men. I had to break up with Ray because of you."
His stomach drops for an entirely different reason. This is the last thing he wants for her. It's why he let her go. Or tried to. "You broke up with Ray because of me?"
She nods in an exaggerated fashion, sighing noisily. "I didn't… I couldn't love him the way I love you. So I had to end it. Because he deserves better."
Oliver's pretty sure she just broke his heart with that sentence. The idea that anyone would deserve better than Felicity Smoak is one that he rejects automatically. There is no one better. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her so, but he reminds himself just in time that she's only saying this because the whiskey loosened her tongue. He knows she wouldn't be saying any of it if she were sober. They've carefully avoided talking about anything related to their personal relationship, or lack thereof, ever since he pushed her away. She tried to date, Ray being the most prominent example, but clearly she's reached the end of her rope.
He lets the silence linger between them, exhaling in gratitude when he spots her townhouse up ahead. He pulls her car into the slot but doesn't make it around to the passenger side before she's clambering out of the vehicle. When he reaches out a hand to steady her, though, she allows the contact and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
After a few minutes spent fumbling to fit her key into the lock, he manages to get her to her room, changed into pyjamas, and in bed. The effects of the alcohol seem to be subsiding, her gaze clearer than it has been all night when she looks up at his face hovering above her from where he sits beside her on the bed. Before he can process what she's doing, her right arm is reaching up, fingers ghosting over his face, thumb smoothing the lines of his forehead. His eyes drift closed at the soothing motions, allowing himself to enjoy it just this once.
"I wish you weren't so sad all the time," she sighs. "You deserve a happy story."
He resists the urge to tell her that she's his happy story. Besides, he knows that her response would be something along the lines of 'it doesn't count because we don't have a happy ending' or, more accurately, he won't let them have a happy ending. Instead, as is his custom tonight, he holds his tongue and settles for reaching up and capturing her hand in his. Her eyes widen when he brings it gently to his lips and lays it back on the bed beside her.
"Go to sleep, Felicity," he murmurs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead without meaning to.
She exhales loudly before closing her eyes and twisting to get comfortable. Right before she drifts off, he catches her last mumbled words. "I miss Sara."
His eyes shut against the pang in his heart at hearing her small voice admitting what they're all thinking today. He spent the entire day avoiding the foundry for as long as he could until he realized it was the only place left he hadn't looked for Felicity. Even though he knew it was wrong, a part of him yearned to at least see her today, to remind himself that there are still people he loves in his life. And when he did find her, it was to learn that she'd spent the better portion of her night setting aside her own grief to help Laurel with hers. He shouldn't find himself so astounded by this woman after this many years, but here he sits, staring down at her sleeping face completely in awe.
"Me too," he whispers, knowing she can't hear him but needing to say the words. As he leans down to brush a soft kiss across her temple, he's sure he hears her sigh contentedly in her sleep. It takes everything in him to walk away.
A/N: So far I plan to write at least Lance, Roy, and Diggle before getting to the final chapter. I'm toying with Thea and Lyla, possibly tying Lyla and Diggle's together. The plan would be for all of them to have at least an Olicity-leaning ending, if not a full-on actual Olicity ending. But what do you guys think? Worth continuing? What types of situations would you want to see her drinking for the other characters in?
